Load the Dice
by Juniorstarcatcher
Summary: The dice fall differently in The 74th Annual Hunger Games. Madge comes home a victor, but Gale cannot help but feel that she hasn't won anything at all.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Everyone! Long time, no see! So, this is a brief story (probably in four parts) about Gale and Madge. Enjoy! Please read and review!**

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When the name comes from the Reaping Ball, the message is clear. When Madge Undersee barely makes it out alive, the message is received.

No one is safe.

Gale watches every minute of the games. They were never close, he and Madge. They were acquaintances at the most. She always tried to smile at him, and he always tried to ignore her. She was Katniss' friend, the sweet, Saintly Madge Undersee. In truth, she almost sickened him. She wore white and read to children and smiled at him. It was enough to make him disregard her existence entirely.

But he doesn't. He avoids school. He holes himself in front of the flickering television set, cursing and huffing anxiously when the power goes out and cuts his viewing off. Violence crackles under the heat of his skin. He wishes he could beat something. But he doesn't. Because he can't. He stews and broods and can't seem to tear himself away. This is Madge Undersee. She may be a nuisance, but she is his nuisance. A smiling, saintly nuisance who pays him for out of season fruit.

He worries about her.

It starts at the parade for the damned. He has never liked the spectacle of chariots, where they drown themselves in paints and feathers and hope for attention. But he cannot tear his eyes away this year.

Every tribute has a defining trait, an adjective that makes them memorable. "The tribute from One, you know, the _smart_ one." Or, "It's a shame about the girl from six. She was so _sweet_." Madge is _sweet_ and _smart_, _cunning_ and _regal_. But her team, her stylist and Effie and the drunk, chooses something else. When the eyes of the Capitol- no, the entire country- fall upon Madge at the parade, she is _alluring_. She is the embodiment of sex. The tributes are dressed as miners coming home from a day at work, but they look like no miners Gale has ever seen. Her hair is tousled; her skin is covered in shimmering coal dust and her body's secrets are kept by a nearly see-through Capitol Coal work suit. Her eyes are clouded by a dark coating of makeup; the blues hidden behind her eyelashes pop for they cameras. Her lips are red.

That is when Gale begins to worry. How can they take her seriously, he wonders, if she is prancing around like she's nothing?

But that is not the reason Gale should be worried.

His fear only gets worse when she interviews with Caesar. She does not flounce. She does not giggle. She does not flutter her eyelashes or pout her lips. She smolders. Madge is black fire. She is slow dancing across a bed of hot coals. Her eyes drag across the stage, hitting the crowds and the cameras with something unbridled. Gale is uncomfortable as she locks gaze with him through the clear screen. A heat from her eyes flushes his skin.

Where is the Madge Undersee who smiled at him every day? Where is the Saint? Where is the girl who bought his strawberries and jerked away any time their fingers so much as brushed? Surely, this is not the same woman. It can't be.

So, Gale worries about her some more. But for all the wrong reasons.

And then, the countdown ends, the cannons fire, and the Games begin. The worrying ends. And the dread begins. His body twitches with every move the characters on screen make. He cannot take it. With every tribute down, the bubbling under his skin lessens. He breathes a little easier. And when the end comes, and Madge is alone, Gale begins to worry again.

She looks so small.

But, Gale is worrying for the wrong reasons.

The Games are over. A victor has been crowned. She now belongs to the Capitol.

_That_ is why Gale should be worried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are, chapter two! I was so pleased by the feedback last chapter! Please review. It really means more to me than you know!**

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Madge is good at a lot of things. She is sweet, a smiler. She is smart, wit like a whip. She is cunning, slippery and quick. But, above all else, Madge is observant.

"You know how you're gonna win?"

This is the only sentence that Haymitch will say to her. She knows it. So, the tribute listens closely.

"You're gonna make yourself indispensable. You do that, they'll gift wrap a Victory Tour for you."

Madge doesn't see how she can make herself indispensable to the government. But she doesn't ask Haymitch or Effie or any member of her prep team for insight. She figures it out for herself. As they enter the Capitol and travel onward, she observes the culture. The subtle brush of fingertips. The flutter of eyelashes as they meet across a crowd. The come-hither of two bodies sinking into a shadowed alleyway.

Madge observes and learns the awful truth. There is only one way of making it out of this thing alive.

Everyone is doubtful when she suggests this angle. They all planned to play on her innocence. But she surprises even herself. The red on her lips makes her bold. And when she gets in the arena, the steel behind her eyes and the red on her hands only make her bolder.

The Capitol will not let her go after the impression she makes. She is perfect. The act is only just beginning. Why cut the performance short? So they send Madge a little present, just like Haymitch promised. The Jabberjays call out in unfamiliar voices. The sound of his loved ones dying forces her final opponent to tear his own skin off, such is his anguish.

"A dramatic finish for a dramatic victor," Caesar calls it.

"Tragic," is all the small victor can say. For, though she didn't touch him, she knows his death is on her hands.

The Capitol puts her to work even before her pysch evaluations clear her for duty. She has a debt to pay, and the creditors are panting for her currency.

They send her to Finnick Odair first, so she understands just the kind of life she has bought. The night is painful and loveless and angry. So that is the kind of person Madge becomes. Painful. Loveless. Angry.

Everyone returns home but her. District Twelve is a mirror. And she avoids those.

Madge is a blinding floor show of a Victor. Inside her mind, she keeps the lights off. But for everyone else, she is a sun all her own. She smiles. She laughs. She never lets on just how smart she is.

She ignores the hands as she walks in the crowds; they pretend it is an accident when they brush once private parts of her, but she knows better. She keeps her eyes low and her charm up. She poses for the cameras in various stages of undress. She loses herself in the darkness. She pays them back in her blood and sweat and self. This is her new arena. And she can never stop fighting.

The crowds cry out to her, shoving each other into the streets to hear a breath of a statement. Who was the gentleman she was with last night? Are she and Finnick Odair an item? Isn't there anyone at home missing her?

Of course there is. But she doesn't know that yet.

* * *

Gale does not like change. But the air is thick with it, and it has been swirling around ever since her name was pulled from the Reaping Ball.

Madge does not come home right away. This is unusual. Most victors are itching to get back to their districts, to escape crowds and noise and themselves. But Madge seems at ease. She wants to stay. At least, that is what the Capitol programs are telling everyone. And, really, what does she have to come back for? Gale takes inventory of the people important to Madge Undersee. Katniss. Her morphling addict mother. Her Mayor father. Gale tries to convince himself that she is right to remain in the Capitol. But with every passing day, he becomes less and less sure of that. The cameras follow her as she flits from party to party, man to man, revealing gown to revealing gown. His eyes are glued to the drama. It goes on, for week after unbearable week.

"Ms. Undersee, is it true that you intend to stay in the Capitol until your Victory tour?"

Gale is helping his Mama with the dishes when he hears the static-drenched, Capitol accented voice cut through his house. The social scene program must have been interrupted for more breaking news in the Madge Undersee saga. He drops the dishrag in his hands and bolts, freezing directly in front of the screen. The camera zooms dramatically as she turns her long neck toward them, stopping atop the steps of some Capitol gentle men's home. A blue dress in some ludicrously expensive fabric exposes her entire back. Gale wonders if she is cold. Gale wonders how all of her scars for the arena disappeared.

He tries not to notice her red lips, but the zoomed picture frames them perfectly. Her lips used to be pink. Gale wonders if she misses that. Madge's voice drops into some husky, breathy tone that has long since taken place of her sweet one.

"I'll stay as long as you'll take me, handsome."

Flashbulbs explode, flooding her in white-hot light. She reaches out a gloved hand and gives his cheek a long stroke. Eyes curling into a wink, a heady laugh escapes her lips and she turns her back on the crowd, ignoring the other shouts for comment. She disappears behind an oaken door.

This is Madge. But at the same time, it really isn't Madge at all.

Gale's feelings come in waves. He tries to convince himself that the feelings rolling through him are not valid or worthy or reasonable. After all, he hardly knows her. He has no right to feel the things he does. He tries to distract himself. After all, she may be living high in the Capitol, but he still has a family to feed.

But the feelings come any way.

_Confusion_.

"Gale, I don't know any more than you do. Why are you so interested in Madge all of the sudden?"

He doesn't know.

_Anger_.

"Gotta love Capitol TV, though. You see Undersee last night? Because I could see all of Undersee, if you know what I mean-"

The flush of lewd comments and jokes is too much for him to bear. He gets in his first fight since elementary school. There are several black eyes, but he escapes without a scratch.

_Fear_.

"Are you alright, son?"

He cannot tell his mother that the dark bags from under his eyes are from counting the hours until he sees her on television again. Who is to say that the Capitol isn't keeping her there hostage? What if she never comes back?

_Frustration_.

"She isn't even the same person! Don't you care, even a little bit, that she's changed so much?"

He asks that question often. No one cares as much as he does.

_Loss_.

Gale feels it in the pits of his stomach every single time she appears on screen.

But, Gale doesn't have to wait for the television, count the hours until she appears or wring his hands because anger at his uselessness is breaching his fingertips. Not anymore. A Capitol voice brings him the only hope has gotten in months.

"After almost two months in the Capitol, it was announced today that, to prepare for her Victory Tour, Madge Undersee will be returning to District Twelve."

Madge is coming home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow! Thank you all for the support! And I have to thank jennycakes/jennylala, who made me an awesome gif set on tumblr!**

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A lesson. When a commodity comes out to market, the industry floods. Money is good. Demand is high. The commodity peaks. But, when that product spends too much time on the market, or if the commodity becomes too plentiful, the demand levels. No one wants something that everyone can have. So, how is supply and demand set right?

Create a scarcity.

That is why they send Madge away. It is President Snow's idea. And President Snow's ideas become reality quickly. Madge is packed and released to District Twelve that very day.

She spends the train ride practicing her piano music on the edge of her dining table as though it is her instrument. She sings. She does things to distract from the sharp objects hiding in drawers and the water that she could easily drown herself in. Pulls the sheets off of her bed and shoves them into a drawer. Drags the curtains from the windows and hides the balled material in a cabinet. Wonders why no one but her thinks of it. So much fabric can too easily become a noose.

Madge rides the train alone. She requires no escort, no supervision. After all, what could befall her that has not already? Sex? Done. Murder? Naturally. Pills and booze? Tried and failed. The idea of an escort makes her laugh. So, alone she remains.

Her thoughts rage within her, making her blood itch. Does she wish that this train were flooded with people? Perhaps. Alone, she must think her thoughts and feel her feelings. With people, she can escape inside their thoughts and desires. In the Capitol, she can act for them and call it living.

The silence creeps into her. She hates it. In the Capitol, there is always noise. Music flowing from speakers. Laughter bubbling from lips. Fabric rubbing against skin. Speech. Grunts. Moans. Shouts. Threats. Promises that people have no intention of keeping. Metal on metal. Flesh on flesh. A silence this lasting turns the volume up on her thoughts. She lays on the floor and presses her ear to hear the whir of the train. She holds pretend interviews. She reads aloud.

Yet, all she can hear is the voices shouting in her own head. The voices of District Twelve. She tries to fight them. But they keep coming back. Murderer. Victor. Whore. Queen. Sympathizer. Prisoner. Either way, she loses.

Madge has no way out. In the Capitol, she is a door. Men pay a toll and stroll through her with ease before forgetting she exists. She is a thing. A convenience. In Twelve, she is-or, at least _was_- a person. A human being with flesh and blood and thoughts and feelings.

Madge is not sure she wants to go back to being a person. Being a door is so much easier. Doors feel nothing; they perform their task and forget once it's over. Person or door, either way, she loses something. In the Capitol, it is her soul. In Twelve, it is her sanity.

She places her head against the glass window of the train and lets the cool of the mountain air seep into her flesh. The day she was reaped, she clung to the walls of the Justice Building so they couldn't take her away from her home. Her nails broke and the wooden door frame fractured. Now, she can't imagine going back there at all.

The District appears on the horizon. But home isn't anywhere to be found.

* * *

Gale volunteers his one day off to do more manual labor. He rationalizes, arguing with himself. The construction team gets better crowd placement, better views. He wants to see Madge, not a video projection of her. The crews of men put up bunting and scaffolds and watch on the sidelines as Peacekeepers coral the animals of District Twelve into their pen.

Everyone is docile. Haymitch is sober. There aren't flags or trumpets or grand speeches. No one dances or sings. Everything is different than Gale imagined.

This doesn't feel like victory at all. This feels like waiting for someone to deliver a body bag. This feels like a funeral. There is just polite conversation made by mothers in the crowd as children meander at their feet. Gale keeps his eyes focused on the train tracks.

There is an older man at Gale's side. He speaks as the train rolls up to the station.

"You know this girl?"

Years of coal dust coat his tenor. Gale watches as the train doors slide apart. His breathing stops for a moment. Then, the sun hits her. She steps from the train with purpose. She smiles. She waves. She tilts her chin up. Gale feels a little pride. She knows how these people feel about her. But she plays the part anyway. Impressive.

From his prime real estate of a viewing post, Gale sees everything. The dress is not hers. It cannot be. It covers her skin and looks like something the old Madge, the real Madge, might wear. It is white, as if they are to believe she is the same as when she left. But Gale is not fooled by this act. Her lipstick is red.

Gale has questions. So many questions. Why has she stayed in the Capitol so long? Why is she coming back now? Why isn't anyone cheering? Why is she wearing that damn dress? Who told her that was alright? Who is this person and where has she put the real Madge Undersee?

Questions without answers are the worst kind.

Cameras focus on the victor; she is the star of the show. No one wants to see the half-starved mining people of District Twelve. Commentators are disappointed in Madge's new look, but understand that one can never be so fashion forward as when they are in The Capitol. They forgive her for her choice. They wish her the best. Men pin pictures of this innocent Madge with the alluring eyes on their walls. A new fetish is born. And all from a girl stepping in front of a camera.

The man at Gale's right repeats his question.

"You know her?"

Gale hesitates before answering. Opening and closing his mouth once before opening again to respond.

"No."

There is no fanfare. Her father shakes her hand and spouts out words that no one cares to hear. Words like valor and sacrifice, duty and honor. Madge hears death. Gale hears loss. A sprinkling of applause breaks out when he is finished.

Haymitch holds onto her, one arm around her waist and another across her shoulders. It looks like a father cheering up a child after losing the big match. It looks like a mentor taking pride in his tribute. There is encouragement in Haymitch's motions. But Gale is not fooled. He is almost certain that Madge would collapse if not for Haymitch's help. It is not encouragement. It is necessary. An odd necessity. Madge was the picture of strength in the Capitol.

At different moments, Gale and Madge take their time to look around. Gale scans the crowd for a sign of support. A smile, a clap, anything. Madge looks around for the cameras. But they both think the same thing.

Who could have known winning would look so much like losing?

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**I hope you enjoy it! Please review and give me some feedback. Your reviews mean so much to me!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Valentine's Day! I hope enjoy poor the chapter! I think this is the end, but I'm not sure! We'll see! stay tuned for my Valentine's Day Fic, ****_Reasons to Run_****, coming out tonight!**

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Four days. Four days and no one in District Twelve has seen Madge Undersee. Gale knows. He passes the Victor's Village everyday for the chance of a glimpse of her. He never sees her. His mother takes her laundry from Haymitch. After the train ride, Madge disappeared. She might as well be dead.

"I talked to the Mayor today," Katniss says as they pick fruit in the forest.

Gale stops. His defenses fly up. The mayor is not one he wants Katniss to speak with. His mind instantly flashes to Madge's train arrival. Mayor Undersee is a cold man.

"He says Madge is lonely."

The air crackles. Of course she is lonely. She doesn't have her throng of admirers at her side. But neither will say that out loud.

"Wants me to visit her."

No response crosses his mind. Gale shoves a handful of berries into his mouth. His hands are stained black and sticky. He waits for her to offer.

"I think you should go too."

That is all the permission Gale needs.

* * *

He leaves Katniss at the fence, clinging to his game bag. The juice on his hand stains the strap. He doesn't care. Questions bounce in his skull, knocking into him with heat. Energy twitches his fingertips. His stride is longer than normal. His pace is quick. Get to Madge. Get to Madge. Madge is lonely. But, he stops outside of her door, knuckles in mid-air before the wood.

Why does he care? Why is he here? Questions without answers are the worst kind.

He knocks. The sound is jarring and thick. Its echo pounds the whole house. The door is carved wood straight from Seven.

"Madge?"

A small voice comes through the door, a breathe away. There is effort in the tone.

"Come in, Haymitch."

Haymitch? Gale lets himself in anyway. The knob is brass. His hand is cool and leaves a trail of blueberry on the shiny metal.

"Undersee?"

It is as if the world hitches for a moment. He looks down at his feet and sees Madge scrubbing the floors. Rest is a foreign concept for Madge. In the Capitol, work is constant. She has pills and injections and threats to keep her awake. Here, her mind is on overdrive and she cannot sit still for long. So she works. The house is too dirty, she decides.

Gale watches as she scrubs them clean of imperfection. Blood mars her knuckles. Her hair is sloppily tied back in a strand of cloth that she has ripped from the hem of her shirt. She looks up at him. No shock registers on her features. Gale feels himself tense and loosen all at once. She is here. He is here. But everything is wrong.

Madge looks at him. Her eyes make him feel small. She dismisses him with her gaze, as though he is not worthy. With a huff, she blows a stray lock of blonde from her eyes. Gale sees the muscles in her shoulders work double time. The insistent scrubbing noise fills the room. He sweeps the entrance hall with his gaze. There is a shattered mirror on the wall. Pieces of it leave a jagged pattern near the staircase. Everything else looks in order.

"Some welcome committee."

The words from her lips barely register to Gale. Her time in the Capitol was so long. A part of him began to believe she was one of them, a character instead of a person.

"I can't believe you're here."

Scrub. Scrub. Dunk. Wring. Scrub.

"I could say the same for you."

Her voice is dead. The porcelain skin of her wrist pushes her bangs from her brow. Sweat is gathering there. Gale sees her eyes clearly for the first time. There is nothing to them but blue. Focused, steeled blue. Gale tries to explain himself. Madge doesn't want explanation from him. She wants nothing from him.

"The mayor says you're lonely. He thought I could visit you."

It is a small fib. He hopes Madge doesn't catch it. She does.

"Did he now?"

The voice is full of fake enthusiasm. There is a rich distance in her words.

"Yeah."

Madge feels her mouth move. Her mind knows it is wrong. But she speaks anyway. In the Capitol, she conserves her words. She counts them. She has not spoken in three days. Now that the floodgates open, Madge cannot stop them. She betrays none of her anger. Only genuine, bitter curiosity peels past her teeth.

"Have you asked him how many times he has visited me?"

Gale shakes his head. He knows it is the wrong answer. She answers her own question. Her fingers touch to create a zero. A snarl curls her lips. Suddenly Gale understands why she mistook him for Haymitch at the door. Haymitch is the only one who will visit her.

"He's so ashamed of his only daughter that he can't even come and see her. I survived a battle to the death and this what I won."

A laugh passes her lips. The floor is hit with her rag once more. Scrub. Scrub. She speaks again.

"Katniss was here today and couldn't even come to the door."

It is true. Madge saw her through the curtains. Katniss approached the house and then left like her friend didn't even matter.

She looks up at Gale. He is different than she remembers. Maybe they all are different.

"It's just so funny."

She isn't laughing. She doesn't look amused. Gale hears the snap of her nail breaking against a floorboard.

"What is?"

With a push of aching muscles, Madge stands. She is different than Gale remembers. Her shoulders are square. Her chin is up. But she doesn't lead with her heart anymore. That realization brings a disarming sadness to Gale's entire being.

"I always wanted to be your friend," she mutters.

A watery slop strikes the floor. She drops the dishrag. The water from her hands winds up on the small material of her shorts.

"And you couldn't even pretend to care until I opened my legs for every man in the Capitol."

A mine could have collapsed on Gale. It would have hurt less than those words.

Madge doesn't want to feel sad anymore. Emotion is exhausting. She cannot take so much as once.

"You can leave. I've had enough company for today."

She gives a show of a smile, never letting on how she feels. She has had plenty of practice in that. Gale folds his arms. He has more questions than answers.

"I thought we could talk."

There is no manual that says how to deal with Victors. If there is, Gale wants a copy.

"I don't want to talk anymore."

It is the truth. At least she is giving him the truth. That is more than she can say for everyone else in her life.

"You aren't angry at me, right?"

No. She isn't. But she is angry. It is an anger that she has not been allowed to feel. Its power ripples through her. It loosens her tongue. Quickens her mind.

"You were always terrible to me."

It is the only response she has. Madge opens the door for him. Gale looks at her again. Those eyes. He wants to ask her every question. But not the scary ones. Not the ones that swirled around during her stay in the Capitol. What is her favorite shade of blue? What is her favorite childhood memory? Would she ever dream of dancing with him like he's dreamed of dancing with her? But he can't. Her eyes are bars and the walls around her are built too high. Today is not the day for climbing them. He speaks again.

"And now you're repaying the favor. Aren't you?"

He turns his back before he can see Madge smile. He would have liked to see it though. The smile is hers. It is not the one that the Capitol hijacked. It is real. She smiles because, for a moment, everything is like before. No one looks her in the eye anymore. No one talks to her anymore. But Gale treats Madge like a person. For a moment, Madge can believe she is herself again. For a moment, Madge can believe that things are back to normal. Oh, how she loves this feeling.

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**Please Review! I love the feedback!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here is chapter five! I hope you all enjoy! And I hope you all are starting to notice the difference in mood and voice when Madge is in the Capitol versus District Twelve! enjoy!**

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Sunday after Sunday, Gale arrives at her door. The click of the heavy locks hits his ears. There is never anyone but Madge in the house, though he always hopes to see someone find time to see her. He never asks Katniss about her visits.

He always knocks, always smiles when Madge answers. The smiles are genuine. One Sunday, he walks to find the door open. It stays unlocked for the weeks to come. Gale lets himself in from that day out. Something in Madge trusts him. Something in Madge welcomes him.

The routine rarely changes, but the scenery does. Gale enters the house and calls for her. She never answers. He follows the sounds of a scrub brush until he finds her. Every week, she is hiding in a different room, as if she hopes on hope that he will give up and leave her alone. Hiding to Gale looks like cleaning to Madge. The harsh chemicals burn holes in her clothes. The dust settles into her hems. But all of her focus sets on her task. Sundays are for scrubbing. Sundays are for buffing. Sundays are for spit shines and listening to Gale. This is normal. This is life. This is breathing.

He speaks nearly constantly. She doesn't remember this Gale. Their exchanges were always short. He spoke in things that could barely be called sentences at all. Pretty Dress. Nobody's fault. Just the way things are. Now, he speaks to fill silence. He asks questions without expecting answers. Questions about Haymitch and Effie and The Village. He tells her about his family. About the mines. About Katniss and Mellark and The Hob. His words fill a silence that tries to hang her. Her father may be ashamed of her, but Gale isn't.

Madge doesn't smile. But she does enjoy this.

On one such day, Gale looks around her bedroom. He tells her a story about Prim and Posy and a goat. She hums in time with the wind, underscoring his tale. A smile never quite reaches her, but he feels the shift in her mood. The humming says it all. She thinks it is funny.

The windows are open. Every shutter is taken down. A pile of them is stacked at Madge's side. Sun breaks into the room. The light plays off of Madge's hair and into Gale's eyes. Things are peaceful. Content. He tries to ignore the blood on her knuckles as she scrubs down the white of the shutter in her lap. His eyes scan the walls. Something flickers in the back of his mind. He counts. One. Two, three. Four. Five. Five in this room alone. All are broken, shattered. Pieces of them are scattered across an otherwise spotless floor.

"You have a lot of mirrors in this house."

Madge's hands freeze. She looks up at Gale.

"Not anymore."

In any other world, Madge might have smiled there. It might have been a joke. But the truth is more complex. Her voice is hard. Her eyes are broken. Madge is stopped.

Gale knows he cannot fix her. But he cannot help but move. He rises and crosses the room. Picking up a shutter, he sits, and begins cleaning at her side. For the first time in a while, Gale says nothing to Madge. He just sits at her side, scrubbing away at dirt only she believes is there.

She likes it when he talks. She likes hearing about his siblings and his mother and his life. But this is different. And she breathes it in. Finally. Someone doesn't want anything from her.

* * *

The next week, Madge is not at her usual post. He hears no scrub brushes. He smells no cleaning solution. And there is music in the house. Music like none Gale knows.

"Hey, there."

Madge slams the piano shut and spins toward him like a guilty child.

"You're playing again."

His smile brims his cheeks. Lights fill his eyes. He has asked her many times to play for him. She never agrees. An answer comes.

"I'm playing for my tour."

It is the only thing she has to say. It is just one more thing that the Capitol is stealing from her. This is the first time since her reaping that her fingers met her keys.

"I think it's beautiful."

His compliment is sincere. But Madge cannot let it go to heart.

"I leave soon. For the tour."

No one can ruin Madge's mood quite like Madge. A deep part of her, laced with dust from the Capitol streets and sweat from their men, doesn't want her too comfortable here. A little heartbreak does wonders for the reality.

"I know."

He doesn't understand. He thinks things will be different. They will not. Their money will still find its way into her stained palm. The cameras will still catch every moment that they can. President Snow will hold the end of her barbed collar. She will be pet just to be prodded. But, of course, Gale thinks things are different. He thinks his friendship will change her ways. Optimism. It gives Madge a headache.

"Are you gonna be alright?"

She uses the hem of her skirt to rub at some dust settling on the bench beside her.

"Yeah. I'll be golden."

Madge does not waste a smile on those words. A lie to Gale is bad enough. One of her night job smiles on top of it is out of the question.

Gale knows he shouldn't believe her. But he does anyway.

* * *

Weeks pass. Sundays come and go. Gale helps her clean the house. They beat tapestries and dust shelves and scrub tubs. The bloody knots on her fingers never seem to disappear, but the Capitol will wipe them away. Gale teaches her how to make her bed, an intimate moment he never before could have experienced. Madge teaches him how to dance. There is eye contact and speech and even, on blessed days that Gale tucks away forever, laughter.

And then, the train pulls into District Twelve. The Victory Tour is beginning. It is a Sunday. Gale leaves his game bag at home. Mahogany doors swing open for him without knocking.

"Madge?"

She stands in her bedroom, feeling a little useless. There are so many more things to clean and do. But she heard Effie and Haymitch discuss it. They question her mental competence. Her fixation with cleaning is alarming. They discuss keeping her in the Capitol after the tour. Since overhearing that, Madge fights every urge to pick up a rag. Don't make me stay, she thinks as she looks at the itinerary on her bedside table. You can't make me stay. Gale rubs the back of his neck.

"Today's the big day?"

That isn't what she would call it. But she nods regardless.

"I-"

He pauses as though is hard to get out.

"I brought you this. It's too small for me and too big for Rory. I thought you could wear it when you clean instead of destroying your other shirts."

He tries to make it sound as little like a gift as possible. But it is a gift. Gale couldn't get a picture made and he wouldn't want one even if he could. He wanted Madge to have something to remember him by. He wanted Madge to have _this_ to remember him by.

The shirt reaches out on the edge of his hand toward her. For the first time since her reaping, Gale cannot look her in the eye. The Victory tour could last shorter than the time it takes for her fingers to start uncurling. Her body asks a million questions as it makes the small motion to take the fabric from his reach. But they are all variations of the same question, really. _Why me?_

Madge isn't sure she deserves it. Gale knows she does.

The shirt is the only thing she takes with her on the train that day.

* * *

The next night in District Eleven, someone buys her time. It passes in a blur of heat and pain and veiled breakdowns. Madge cleaned all of those days in the hope that her muscles wouldn't reject her work again. Strength and Conditioning training. Career training. But everything hurts. Her muscles. The place behind her eyes. The effort it takes to say yes.

He gets his money's worth around dawn. His steps are met with Madge's exhausted silence. She will not cry. She will not cry. This man has not bought her tears.

Eventually, Madge rises to her feet and moves to her closet on the train. A single thing hangs there. Her arms find their way into the sleeves of a hunter green shirt, not bothering to button it up. She hugs the fabric to her, arms aching with the strain. Madge collapses in bed. Everything moves past her and through her at a rate she cannot fathom. All she can hold onto is the worn shirt with his father's initials in it.

With each moment the shirt clings to her body, she remembers how to breathe again.

* * *

**There it is! Please, please, please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we are again! Chapter six! So, this was supposed to be four chapters, now it is looking like 8-10! I hope you guys don't mind! Enjoy!**

* * *

It is the first night of the Victory Tour. Gale leaves the mines that afternoon with hope. The wind is cool. The sky is big. Madge is not the center of his world, no. But she is a part of it. He scrubs his face clean of coal dust and sweat and grime of the day. Mining uniform becomes fresh shirt and pants. An unexpected kiss graces the top of his mother's forehead. Eyes widen at the hidden grin on his face. Hazelle hides a smirk as she ducks over her sewing. The Capitol program comes on. They no longer broadcast the speeches after the 70th Games were ruined by the crazy girl. But Gale can't find it in himself to care. He gets to check on Madge. It is a good day.

Then, she appears on screen. She stands before the Mayor of Eleven's home, answering questions. Just. Like. Before. How was your stay in Twelve? Passable. Did you miss the Capitol? Terribly. Are you glad to be going back? I'm so glad to be serving my country by sharing my Victory with the other districts. What are you most excited about? Seeing my gentlemen friends, naturally.

It is like someone shoots him. Gale's stomach sinks like a stone. He is a balloon that someone sticks a pin in. The air flies from him. His vision tunnels. The sound of his mother quieting his siblings disappears. Hazelle instantly worries. Her hand flies up to her mouth. This is destruction. The light from the room evaporates.

No. No. _No_. Everything is wrong.

Madge is in red tonight. Her lips are blood. Her eyes are dark. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. The television says Madge hasn't changed. But everything has changed, hasn't it? He taught her to make her bed. They cleaned. They danced. She laughed and hummed and cleaned and he believed that he helped her. He _believed_ it. And maybe, for a moment, she did too.

The cameras follow her all night. Her lipstick rubs off on shining glasses, but never seems to dull on her lips. Men swing her from arm to arm as tunes of music change from moment to moment. Her partners change. Her smile never wavers. Commentators lavish her with praise on her dress and her poise and her victory. Gale struggles to follow along. He is dizzy.

Eventually, he leaves the room. A burst of cool air helps him breathe. Not another second is watched that night. He goes about his business, day after day. Bitterness rests deeper and deeper inside him. His fingers find new callouses. Coal productivity increases as his pick hits harder and harder. He hurts in places no one ever told him about. He stops speaking again. Short sentences settle in once more. No. Fine. How's your's? Turn it off. No, we weren't friends.

Perhaps Gale hopes things will change. So, he watches. But it is always the same. Madge's bruised knuckles are buffed clean. As if he is to believe this is the real her. He wonders if she cleans on the train. They move from District to District, day to day. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. He can't watch her smolder on Finnick Odair's arm. Three. Two. One. Capitol.

Gale doesn't watch her in the Capitol. He walks to her house and cleans. Everything is immaculate already. But it is a Sunday. It is cleaning day. The door is open. There is only one thing he wants to do. And it is simple, really. He takes a bucket and a brush. In each room, he finds the remains of the shattered mirrors. Brush. Brush. Brush. He pulls up the little pieces, ushering them into the bucket until all traces of them are gone. He throws them out. No one will ever have to look in them again. Madge will like that. Even if she never knows he is responsible for it.

* * *

"Madge. Madge, dearest."

It is Effie knocking on the door. But Madge does not want to answer it. She cannot even _think_ of answering it. It is her party in District Twelve. Everyone is waiting for her. Everything feels wrong. This dress is black and flecks of pure gold dance around it. Every piece of her is covered. But she feels like those sheep hanging in the butcher window. They're still in their wool, but everyone knows they're for sale. She gulps down, hard. District Twelve. Her speech is given. Now is the party. Now is the hard part. She always knew this would be the hard part.

* * *

"There are no wretched mirrors in this house."

Madge smirks.

* * *

President Snow once told her how much he enjoyed seeing her at Finnick Odair's side.

"The contrast, I think," he began, lofting a few fingers in her direction, "is good for the people to see."

On the one hand, the people have Finnick. He uses the smile. He uses his words. He lays it on thick, playful and charming. Madge is more economic. She saves her smiles. She conserves her words. She is smoke and thunder. In public, she understands the power in stillness. The imagination is powerful. The mind is useful for conjuring. So, it is only natural that they recover in different ways. Once, she stumbled upon Finnick after a particularly long working night. Just to see a familiar face, hear a familiar voice, smell a familiar scent. And Finnick just lay there. He didn't move. She checked to see if he was breathing, but he snapped his hand out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Battle reflexes.

Madge cannot do that. Madge cannot sit still for long. So she leaves the room. The act is beginning. The audience is beginning to whisper. Finnick can never get better without sleep. Madge can never get better without moving.

* * *

The crowd swarms her. Flashbulbs explode. She gives just enough of a smile to prove that murder is not on her mind. Her eyes steady. She cannot let on that all she wants is to know if he accepted her invitation. But he is on her mind. She placed the call in District Eight, clinging to his shirt, inhaling the last of his scent as it died out. She wants him here.

"Miss Undersee, anyone special catch your eye during this tour?"

A slow, sensuous blink curls. The real answer is that her log is in the bedside table of her room. Signatures and everything. It goes everywhere with her. But she cannot say that. Instead:

"Oh, a lady never tells."

She pushes through the reporters. The entertaining is only half-full. It is large. Like the rest of the house, it is too large. But her mind fills in ghosts. Ghosts of music. Ghosts of men. Tinkling glasses. Hands on her spine. Gasps on her collar. Ghosts of the Capitol. Sickness suddenly overcomes her. The room plays spin the bottle with her mind.

"Y'alright, there, kiddo?"

Haymitch's concern is genuine. And so is Madge's smile. She nods once. He doesn't touch her back. He knows that is wrong.

"Your boyfriend is over there," he tips his glass in the direction of a dark corner and Madge's eyes follow.

Gale is there. Gale is there. He wears his best clothes. His face is washed. His eyes are tired. His hands are covered in bloodied bandages. He looks out of a window as though the world is waiting for him out there.

She cannot hope for too much. But she does. Oh, she does. Her mind races to him. Her body tries to follow. Breath enters Madge's lungs and a laugh escapes her lips. Her eyes focus. Her steps are determined. And then a hand grasps her wrist. The deck of cards falls in a pile of nothing at her feet.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?"

She looks up at him. He was in Three. And Six. Twice. Madge has to turn her face away to keep her shame from showing.

"How could I refuse?"

The mask slides on like an old, reliable dress. She blinks several times and looks up from under her eyelashes. He gets a good view, and his mind fits in the puzzle pieces. He leads her up the stairs. Knees are weak. Madge barely makes it there. Her vision blurs.

Gale watches as they go. The door shuts behind them. And inside Gale, something breaks.

* * *

**Please review! I can't wait to hear what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**The response to last chapter was Amazing! Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this as much as to enjoyed that!**

* * *

Losing. Madge has done it. Madge has seen it. But Madge is a Victor. She is not defeated. Batting a thousand. Gold medals. Laurels. Crowns. They all belong to her. The day Snow placed the thresh of victory on her head, Madge could never have dreamed that winning would be just like losing.

Since then, though, she confuses winning and losing on a near daily basis. They look so similar. Sometimes she cannot tell them apart. The morning after her party in Twelve, for example.

This is a losing day. This is not a victory day.

A chill tinges the sheets. Her bed is cold. No arms wrap themselves around her. Body heat does not find its way between two beings. She is alone. But things are not exactly as they were the night before.

Her beautiful dress is ripped from the slit in her thigh straight to the breast. A side effect of a man's passion. It is ruined forever. The crumpled mess of fabric lies in a heap on her perfectly buffed floor. The client log on her bedside table is wide open. Pages are held flat by a brand new pen. The spine is creased. A name is scribbled beside yesterday's date. Money lies carelessly on the pillow beside Madge's head. It is the first thing she sees when her blue eyes slide open.

It is what her life is worth. It is what she amounts to.

But there is something beneath the wad of money that makes the buzzer go off in the back of Madge's mind. This is match point. This is game over. She sits up. The sheets slide from her body, uncaring of her exposed skin. Her fingers brush the bills to the floor carelessly. The sound goes unheard before it happens. The walls seem suddenly very close. Her heart ricochets inside her chest.

A nightmare becomes real. She feels Snow tug on the puppet strings of her life. His laughter plays in her head. Her hands wrap around an envelope. Photographs fall to the floor. They fly before her vision like a movie she cannot turn off. They breach the horizon and eclipse her world. She and Gale scrubbing shutters. Matching smiles. Barefoot dancing on slick floors. Four words in red, written over a happy Gale and Madge.

I OWN YOU NOW.

She shouldn't be surprised. But she is. Snow has her by the throat.

Everything is wrong. No. No. _No_.

He can't have Gale. He can't have Gale.

For a while, Madge is frozen. But then, her mind pieces the puzzle together. A plans forms. She will go to the Capitol early. She will prove she is loyal. Her blood and skin will prove her loyalty. And they will have no reason to look at Gale. But until then, Gale cannot be here any longer. Gale cannot be her friend.

Snow cannot know he is all she has.

The silence is shaken by a knock. Her mind snaps. Everything happens fast. Clothes find their way to her body. Photos scramble into her arm. They hide in her chest. She flies down the stairs. A curtain covers the window of her front door. But she knows it is him. Who else would visit?

She breathes. She steadies herself. She thinks of the Masons and the Odairs and the Abernathys.

Her heart apologizes. Then, she opens the door.

"You can't be here," she spits.

Gale blinks. Nothing is getting through his armor today. He has been building to this moment. The chinks in the emotional metal are covered. He is steel. Not even the distant thunders of Madge Undersee could scare him from behind his shield. He twitches at the sight of her shirt- his father's shirt- thrown carelessly over her body- but that is it. He looks behind her and asks a question in disguise. Where is the man from last night?

"Anyone else in here?"

They are all at her father's house. But his question gets no answer. Madge's response is immediate. He cannot be here. The cameras could be anywhere. They could be watching now. She has to end this. He has to leave. Madge has messed up. Capitol danger lurks near Gale. And it is Madge's fault. It is Madge's fault they know about Gale. She knows better. Finnick told her about Annie. That reaping was no accident. She has to fix this. She has to send him away.

A normal breath. And then, terror. She tries to shut him out. Fire dances under her skin. He cannot be here. He cannot be here.

"You have to go. You can't come here anymore."

Her hand is on the door. But Gale is not done. This drama has played out a million times in his head. The lines must be spoken. This play is not over. Then, he is in her house. The door slams. The sound shakes Madge. Grey eyes meet blue. And there is no turning back now.

"I want an explanation."

Both of them stand their ground. Both of them puff their chests. Both of them play at strength. But they both feel so small.

"I'm owed that," he says.

Things can't be what they seem. Gale's mother says that. But Gale isn't sure anymore. He is just tired of being a piece in a game. He wants an answer. This girl is a part of him. And that cannot be left unfinished.

This story does not end with Madge disappearing into another man's arms. Gale is sure of that. Somewhere between his head and his heart, Gale is sure of that.

"Why do I owe you anything?"

Madge turns her back on him and hopes it builds a wall. A wall a thousand feet high. Sheer faced. No footholds. No gates. No windows. Just a wall to keep him safe. A wall to keep the Capitol in. A wall to keep him out.

Gale's response is clear. Each word is divided. There is no room for misunderstanding. Half shrapnel. Half voice of reason. He shoves her face in the words. He twists the knife.

"Because I am the only one who stayed."

No words. Madge cannot find words. Breath passes irregularly. She has to command her eyes to blink. Her fingers slip a little from the stack of pictures.

"You don't want me to stick around? That's fine."

It isn't fine. But Gale cannot say that now. His speech gains momentum. He gets a little more brave. An answer is so close he can feel it.

"But explain why I don't matter anymore."

His voice does not falter. These words, thoughts, and emotions cannot get through his picket defenses. Not anymore. There is just a bit of anger. And a lot of passion.

"Because they have you now."

She nearly screams the words. The pot boils over. She cannot keep it in any longer. An ache pulses through her skull. She pulls at her hair. Gale stops.

"What?"

A blonde head falls. Madge's blue eyes stare at a spot of dirt on the floor. The Capitol team did a poor job of cleaning. She has to do the whole thing over again. A sigh pours from her. Pictures reach out toward Gale. They hang from the edge of fingertips.

He snatches them from her. Eyes take in the images greedily. He expects sex. Scandal. He gets cleaning day. Clumsy dancing.

"When you win, you owe people things. Owe them for helping you win."

She isn't explaining this right. She knows this. But words won't stop now.

"Snow sells me. To pay back my debt. That's why my father is so ashamed. Because Snow sells my body."

Gale stops with the pictures. He stares without seeing anything. He suddenly doesn't want to know. The taste of blood fills his mouth. His stomach revolts. Snakes slither under his skin. This isn't the answer he wants.

The color pulls from his vision. He feels so sick. His head swims. All this time. He thought. Those men. Red lips. Black eyes. Her choice. Not her choice. So wrong. So wrong.

This turns everything completely around. This changes everything. He was going to walk out of that door and never come back. But he can't do that. Not now. They need each other too much.

"I thought I was done. I thought my debt was paid. But now he has you."

Her voice breaks. This is not worth her tears. She did not cry in the arena. She will not cry now. She blinks.

"He killed Johanna Mason's family. And he killed most of Finnick Odair's."

She walks to the door and turns the handle. She makes no secret of the fact that her hands are shaking. There is no need. Because her voice is shaking too.

"But he can't have you."

The door opens. Fury floods him. Is everyone supposed to just sit by and let Snow take what he wants? Gale is tired. Tired of being used. Tired of watching Madge from the cheap seats. Tired of being at the mercy of the television. Tired of Snow. Tired of waiting until Sunday. Tired of wondering which Madge he will have this time, his or theirs.

They can't have Madge. They can't have Madge. Not anymore.

"So that's it?"

Gale's voice is barbed wire, digging into her skin and dragging.

"You're just gonna let Snow use us?"

Unbelievable. This is unbelievable. She is trying to protect him. Madge looks him in the eyes. Her eyes are Capitol steel. Her decision is made. Her heart is not torn or aching. This is not a love story. This is survival.

"If it means you get to live, then yes," she says.

Gale walks through the door. His words are a promise. But they ring like a threat.

"I'm coming back here."

Madge slams the door in his face.

* * *

Gale keeps his wicked word. He shows up everyday after work. He sits on her porch for twenty minutes. Coal dust paints his face. His mining uniform stands out against the glistening white of her doorstep. He leaves stains for her to clean. He knocks. She does not let him in. She does not acknowledge his presence.

Except.

Once. The curtains pull back so Madge can seen him. Then, she closes them against the life she could have had.

She is saving his life. They cannot have Gale. Madge won't let them.

* * *

**Drama. Am I right? Please let me know what you think! I promise you, the feeling will be a LOT lighter around her for the next two/three chapters, I PROMISE! Don't let this angst discourage you. Next up...Madge is back in the Capitol. And Finnick is worried. I can't wait to hear all of your thoughts! Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here we are! Part eight! A little less angst... I think? Please give me feedback. I would love to hear it.**

* * *

Gale watches. He watches her train leave for the Capitol. She leaves four weeks early. He knows it is because of him. The guilt becomes a coal dust he cannot wash off. He watches her greet her tributes in the Capitol. She does not return for the reaping. He watches them interview her. She far outshines the children. He watches them use her. Again. Again. Again. Their hands sink into her flesh like skinning knives. Their mouths find hers like arrows find targets. Every time. He hides his anger. It pulses beneath his skin.

His mother calls him crazy. He stops watching so much after that.

Life goes backwards. Everyone agrees without speaking that they will pretend Madge was just a bad dream. They do not ever mention her in front of Gale. Things are as they were months ago. Sundays are for hunting. Mining destroys the ground. The work destroys Gale. His back hurts too much to lift Posy anymore. She tries to understand. But her special light begins to leave her eyes. The broken pieces of Gale Hawthorne ache as they watch it.

* * *

"You loved her, didn't you?"

An arrow is pulled from the carcass of a squirrel. The sound cracks the air. He looks at Katniss. He takes the animal from her hand. His knife is true as it slices fur. Gale knows. Gale knows who she is talking about. But he plays dumb. He tries to ignore how his hand twitches at the thought of her.

"Who?"

Katniss would leave it alone. But she wants to know. Peeta Mellark asked her about it the other day. And it hasn't left her thoughts since. The big empty house in the Victor's Village calls to her in the dead of night.

"Madge Undersee."

The name comes out. It is covered in mud and spit and sweat and slander. That name means a million things to a million people. It only means good to few. Gale loves it. Gale misses it. Katniss can barely speak it.

His answer is immediate. Because it is the truth.

"Love is a big word."

That is all he says.

* * *

Things go back to normal. But, as always, his mind wanders down a path that only leads to her. She shoved photographs in his hand that day. He keeps them. One hides in the pocket of his mining uniform. Right over his heart. It is folded and crinkled. But she is there. There is no mistaking her. The others rest under the mattress. His father's broken mining pin keeps the photos company.

Some nights, his brothers fall asleep quickly. The light of the stars and the sound of the sky keeps Gale awake. And he takes Madge out. He flips through the blackmail. He relives the moments. A brush of the hand. A laugh.

And the next day, he catches a glimpse of her walking into a party on some snake's arm. Things look hopeless.

Things are hopeless.

* * *

Madge is a wreck. No one would know it. But Madge is a wreck. She arranges transport to the Capitol early. Snow is pleased. His message is louder than he thought. He enjoys the feeling of tightening her leash. Madge feels the collar dig into her flesh.

She works. They give her pills for everything here. They are her most precious possession. She is never far from a tiny silver capsule full of smaller white pills. The work is hard. The pills make each encounter less like death.

Finnick and Madge are magnets. They find each other. Always. But these games keep Finnick busy. His tribute did well until the end. One night, he finds her roaming the halls. She is a vision in black. Finnick says so. Then he sees her. Instead of just looking at her.

"Madge?" He asks again.

Her eyes are unfocused. Her hand skims the gently fabriced walls of the hallway. She is docile. Her entire body shakes. Her knees barely withstand the weight of her body.

But she smiles.

The makeup is plastered on her face. The team did well tonight. It is so flawless, so lovely, the crowds have no hope of knowing.

"How long have you been awake?"

There is tension in his voice. There is angst. He knows this look. He has been here before. Right after they took Annie. Madge leans against the wall. Her head lays carelessly in a pool of golden light. She cannot remember how many days. How many hours. She counts the clients. They are her only way of knowing that time has passed.

"Six days."

It has actually been seven. But neither of them know that.

"You can hardly walk-"

Finnick tries to reason with her. It is no use. The pill bottle is empty. She took their energy supplements. Their magic pulses through Madge's veins. Everything is a haze. But she cannot stop. Gale is back home. She has to know he is safe. She can't stop until she is safe. She has to prove to Snow her loyalty. Her eyes lose their cloud and her tongue sharpens for a moment.

"Then you'd better take my arm and help me into that bedroom, hadn't you?"

There is no room for refusal. Finnick slides his arm around her frame. The medicines they prescribe make her impossible thin. Brittle. Fragile. Energy courses through her veins. Finnick can feel it vibrate under her skin. Pulsate into his palm.

That is the beauty of a Capitol prescription. All of the whores get them. These little white pills keep the body awake and the mind just alert enough. But only enough to get the job done. Medicine can only do so much. Finnick knows she has a long night ahead of her. He opens her door. She finds her way to her bed.

"Thanks."

Madge barely breathes the word. Her back slackens. Her feet dangle from the bed's edge. Her hands pick idly in her lap. Any minute. Her appointments are always kept. She is surprised when Finnick stays. Even through days of drugs, she can register surprise.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Haymitch muttered rumors of this behavior during the games. Said Madge was unhinged. Unstable. Something happened. Mentioned a boy. Finnick hopes he is wrong.

"Is that what they told you when you did this for Annie?"

Her tone is flatlined. It belongs to a recording, to a toy. It is emotionless. The drugs do that to a person. Finnick could run her through for that. Annie is off limits. She knows that. The violent receptors in his body twitch. His killer instinct gets thirsty. But he steps back. He breathes. Counts to three. Then ten.

And realizes that Haymitch was right. There is a boy.

"Oh, shit."

Finnick marvels. Humans just can't learn. He told her. He told her about Annie. He wanted her out of this when the debt was paid. He should have known that Snow would never let that happen. Madge's body continues its shaking. She has been on this energy medication for too long.

"They can't have Gale."

The air conditioning unit and Madge's thundering heart drown out her words. She turns and looks at her companion.

"They can't have him."

This medication is a medical miracle. It is popular in the Capitol. It's main focus is sheer energy boost. It is to keep the Victors awake long enough to watch the Games and service clients. But a side effect? Temporary memory loss. Finnick took it to forget Annie during his work in the Capitol. To wash away guilt.

But Madge remembers. Madge remembers this boy. Madge remembers why she is fighting. Seven days of drugs and men and abuse couldn't rip him from her mind.

Finnick looks at Madge for a long moment. And then, he smiles. It is a smile of waves and oceans and fish and knots. Because in Madge's eyes, Finnick sees something.

A young man in a mining uniform. Madge in a white cotton dress. Dancing. Laughing. A kiss.

In Madge's eyes, Finnick sees it all. And Finnick knows.

This story has a happy ending.

* * *

**Please review! I cannot wait to hear what you all have to say about this one!**


	9. Chapter 9

**This is our last chapter before the Epilogue. I cannot wait to hear you what you all have to say!**

* * *

Revolution. The word silvers on Madge's tongue. What does it mean? What can it mean in a world like this? A world of Games and men and pawns and endless trains and the Capitol. Revolution. It rolls around in her mind. It rolls in with the tide of her mind. She goes through several stages.

_Disbelief_.

"Finnick. There is no District Thirteen."

_Rage_.

She beats him aimlessly as hot tears streak down her face.

"You've let them do this to me when I could have been helping you?"

_Betrayal_.

"You've damned me, Finnick!"

She puts her hands over her ears and threatens to turn him into Snow. Anything to save her own skin.

_Fear_.

"Gale can't be safe. Annie can't be safe. Are they?"

_Acceptance_.

"I'm in. Tell me what to do."

Madge and Finnick stay in the Capitol longer. Their nights don't end until the last of the stars go out. Madge writes everything down. The secrets keep rolling in, off the tongues of cooperative patrons. They fill chapters in Madge's mind, then libraries.

* * *

Haymitch raises his glass to them in private. The good fight is theirs. A glooming pride threatens to overtake him. He is almost proud of his daughter that never was. His fear is there. But maybe she is the one. Maybe she can beat it. Maybe she can turn what she has been created against them.

Maybe she is a Mockingjay.

* * *

The sun rises over the Capitol. Madge wears her gown from last night. Her hair is unkempt. Her nails are ruined. The bruises are visible. Her head is full of secrets. She likes the idea of using people instead of being used. She wants to scrub her skin from her body a little less with every secret she uncovers. A storm is brewing in her mind and lightning is sparking between her fingertips.

Today, she will return to Twelve. The trains prepare themselves in the distance. In a few hours, she will be on one. Emotions fight for their right inside her. She settles on indecision. She is stuck. She knows that Twelve means rest. Haymitch. But she knows that means never following that path to the Seam. It means that no road ever leads to Gale Hawthorne. The air is suddenly dense and hard to breathe.

Finnick appears at her side. His clothes are barely on enough to be called decent. A vague smile hangs on his face. Madge sees an ocean and a girl and an old woman and rope and laughter in that smile. She sees it in his future. She is happy for him. It surprises her how happy she is for him.

"Are you going to see her when you get back?"

Finnick nods and looks out in the distance. The sun breaks over the buildings. It is blinding as it glints off of the mirrored roofs. Finnick doesn't care. He defies this light. The sun off the waves in Four is brighter. The sun from Annie's smile is brighter.

"The second I get there."

Giddy anticipation crackles at the air. Madge rolls that over in her mind. She inspects every corner with awe and fury. She cannot imagine this. She cannot imagine him. She cannot imagine what he has gone through. She cannot imagine what he goes back to. She cannot imagine how he puts her through that danger. What guilt. What sacrifice. What conflict.

"How can you do that? You know you can't protect her."

The thought is not there. Regret follows those words. Madge hangs her head and mutters an apology. Annie is a subject best left on an untouchable shelf. Finnick clenches and releases his hands. Violence follows him still. It is a part if his skin. It flows through his veins. He struggles to control it around Madge sometimes.

He counts to three. Then to ten. And then he thinks of Annie once more.

"We're changing things. They won't be able to touch her for much longer."

This hangs on the breeze. Finnick looks at the bruises on his skin, then on Madge's. He remembers earlier nights when they would count the moments until experts would buff them out. Now, they take their mornings in his bed, comparing battle scars. Proof of a night well abused. Finnick's smile falters, but only for a moment. His eyes travel from bruise to bruise. He counts them like stars, searching them. Finally, he meets Madge's eyes.

"I love her. Being with her is the best protection I can give her."

He only holds her gaze for a moment. But Madge thinks that revolutions are born on such moments.

* * *

Gale is trapped in this nightmare. It happens every few nights. The idea of sleep haunts him. But her face, her voice, the promise of a glimpse beckons. He cannot deny. The nightmare grips and drags.

It always begins the same. Madge is across from him in a field. The scars from the arena peek through her dress. The sun plays off of the dead skin. Her lips are pink. Her eyes smile at him; the rest of her face follows. This is his Madge, not the one they stole, not the one they rewired. Gold fills him from the tips of his fingers to the edge of his eyes. He takes a step closer to her.

Then, the bombs go off.

He yells. She pursues. Their fingertips brush for a moment's breath. But he loses her in the smoke. His lungs fill. He wakes in a cold sweat. Every time.

Gale doesn't have to ask what it means. He knows. Madge is gone. He has lost her to the Capitol. He got too close. He scared her off. And now she's gone for good.

Gale forgets what forever looks like. He forgets what it feels like to have eternity at your fingertips. To know what you want tomorrow to look like. With Madge gone, he has lost his ability to see it. It is gone. The future vanishes.

He works. He hunts. He lives for his family. He never looks hopefully to the train tracks. He never checks the television for a glimpse of her. There are moments of other girls. Moments of pity or obligation. But he is simply Gale. Gale and no one else.

One afternoon, his family visits his father. The grave is empty. But the symbolism is there. His sister picks flowers and his mother talks to her husband for an hour like he can hear her. Gale asks to stay behind. He knows his mother will want his father to know. About Madge. About heartbreak. About everything.

Gale stares at his ceiling. He picks at the memory of a nightmare, peering through the haze for something to grab on to before his rational mind can tell him what a bad idea it is.

Then, a knock on the door. His mind does not go to Madge because he knows she is lost to him forever. There is no swell of hope in his chest. He knows she is lost to him forever. There is no flutter of the heart. He knows she is lost forever. There is only curiosity at the oddity of a visitor. Because he knows she is lost forever.

The world holds its breath when he opens the door. It is her. She holds a suitcase. She wears a miner's green shirt. Her lips are pink. Her eyes are blue. A rainstorm hides behind her eyes. The bruises on her face, the marks on her skin, are a punch in the gut for Gale. Uncertainty colors her cheek. Hope grinds her teeth.

Gale's chest is pressed uncomfortably against her picture in his pocket. He just stares. He doesn't move. Fear shocks him still. When do the bombs go off? When does this happy ending turn?

On the train, Madge plans this whole thing out. Things to say. Grand gestures to make. But speech escapes her.

Finnick gave her the courage to live her life. She finally gave herself the permission. But she spent so much time avoiding the life she wanted. Now, it is at her fingertips. How can she simply reach out and take it as though it belongs to her?

As though she deserves it?

She puts her suitcase down. Gale flinches at the thud. It sounds too much like bomb fire. Too much like nightmares. His hand twitches. He aches for the feeling of her artificial, Capitol clean skin on his hardened hunting skin. Just to make sure she is actually here.

"I don't know how to explain myself."

The words are simple enough, but there is a world behind them. And Madge bears that world on her shoulders. Gale feels oppression from across the threshold. The words choke Madge on their way up. She swallows. Gale breathes.

"So, you're really here, then?"

Gale feels like he is speaking from under an ocean of water. The shock of her appearance disarms him. Madge nods. A twitch of her lips almost becomes a smile.

"Yeah."

Something strange happens. Something that Madge did not plan. She takes a cautious step forward. It is a step that asks questions. The creak in the floorboard speaks volumes. For a moment, Madge is a child. That step sheds the baggage of her last year. She is a step closer to Gale. After a moment of inspection, she pulls his arms from his chest, one after the other. She frees up space.

And then, she wraps her arms around his chest, sinking into his skin as though she belongs there.

"I had to know what it is like to do this for real."

Gale's arms clench her. He half expects the bombs of his nightmares to take her away. His face contorts in confusion. She returns from the Capitol to find out how to do this?

"Hugging someone?"

Madge feels rest sink into her bones. Sunlight goldens her skin, turning the icy porcelain warm. Her eyes slide closed. Madge breathes her words against his chest.

"Loving someone."

Gale looks out from his porch. He sees no train in the distance. No cameras. No customers. He sees the sun playing off of puddles, Madge's finished suitcase. He sees Madge's light hair tucked into his body.

He sees forever. Gale just sees forever.

* * *

**Epilogue to come! Please review! Please!**


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